


In Which A Sleepless Night Is Had By Both

by idgit_with_a_fidget



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Arc Reactor, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, bruce looks out for tony, couch cuddling, tony looks out for bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idgit_with_a_fidget/pseuds/idgit_with_a_fidget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony falls asleep watching a film with Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which A Sleepless Night Is Had By Both

The DVD had been terrible. The characters were dull and thin and the plotline was on the verge of anorexic. Bruce got more entertainment out of watching Tony Stark try and stay awake, only to inevitably fail. He’d fidget here and there, take large swigs of his drink, attempt to catch popcorn in his mouth after tossing it upwards into the air like a seal with a ball. In the end he eventually slumped, head rolled back on his shoulders, mouth agape and snoring gently; one arm and one leg dangling, brushing the carpet, the other arm on his chest and the other foot across Bruce’s knees. The living room spasmodically glowed various shades of blue-white as the film continued to play. 

Not wanting to wake the would-be grouch, Bruce stayed where he was and resisted the playful urge to experimentally tickle the soles of Stark’s feet, just to see him startle. He reached for the remote control and silenced the television, not bothering to wait and find out if there was an extra scene post-credits. 

The Tower was nearly silent save the soft hum of the refrigerator or the convulsions of the water pipes. The technology that went into the creation and management of the Tower marvelled Bruce, struck him with an intense awe that gave him the sense of a second home –not like he had a first, what with all his moving around. He glanced over the sofa at the brains behind it and considered the jealousy that murmured its thoughts in his head. He was so full of self-confidence, of pride, of esteem, despite being possibly emotionally damaged. He walked into a room and the room fell silent and stared. When Bruce Banner walked into a room, most did the same, expect with the obvious gleam of fright and anxiety in their eyes instead of veneration or moderate intimidation. Bruce himself began to feel quite drowsy. If Tony was in that room, he’d be the only one to approach and shake his hand, clap him on the shoulder or slap his ass in cheeky greeting. Others would worry that would be like stepping on a landmine. 

The quiet was otherworldly, as if staying awake was somehow forbidden.

Suddenly, Bruce became aware of Tony becoming restless again. It started with his foot twitching, and then his entire torso straining as though a great weight had been left on his chest. His face muscles contorted and his lips parted, shaped themselves in silent pleading. Bruce stared. A nightmare. What should he do, wake him? No, that hurt them, didn’t it? Or was that just sleep walkers? Too late, Tony was awake already.

Tony looked at him, eyes welling with anxiety and dread, a thin film of perspiration coating the tender flesh of his neck. Bruce considered speaking, although he found himself trapped, startled by the wordless gaze of the billionaire, as though he had been caught trying to stick an old sock in his mouth like the pranks played during childhood at sleepovers. He didn’t move, froze, breathed slowly and carefully, but loud enough for the other man to know _’Hello. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re not dreaming anymore. Keep breathing.’_ A part of Bruce’s subconscious giggled: to find solace from the land of nightmarish fiends in a demon itself; it was like preferring Hyde as a shoulder to cry on than the Doctor. 

The brown eyes searched his face. Bruce did not smile, he did not wrap his arms around Tony, he did not whisper his empathies or his sympathies. He merely stared back, expression soft in silent hello. The darkness stretched, flexed and drowsed.

Tony blinked, smashing the paused tableau and then closed his eyes for good. Bruce allowed himself to breathe regularly again and relax. It wasn’t long before he heard that ugly snoring again.

*

Tony snuffled and elongated his body, arching his spine like a cat, yawning grotesquely. He stared up at an off light, now awake, and realised that this wasn’t the place he’d fallen asleep in. He was instantly aware of a sudden cold, goosebumps prickling up his stomach and solar plexus. He twisted and went to snatch back the duvet he had imagined he had, rolling over to the opposite side, but found no blanket.  
 _Why is Bruce hogging the blanket?_  
And then:  
 _Why is Bruce in my bed?_  
And then again:  
 _Still no reason to hog the duvet._

Tony sat up and leaned his weight on one elbow until it started to tingle with an annoying numbness. Bruce was lying pencil-straight on the very edge of the mattress, hands at his side, perfectly poised like a corpse in a coffin, eerily balanced. The duvet was wrapped around his feet and half-bundled at his waist as though it had originally acted as a makeshift wall to separate them both. Beneath his eyelids the muscles twitched and rolled, and Tony was aware of a tensing of Bruce’s fingers into fists, clenching and unclenching. His mouth babbled and his teeth bit down on his own lower lip, turning the pink flesh chalk white. Harder, harder still until it was sure to bleed and bruise. Tony reached out a hand to wake him from the night-terror, worrying that the scientist was going to hurt himself and to stop him from causing any more damage, but before he could even lay a finger on his shoulder, Bruce awoke, alert.

Bruce stared blankly up at the ceiling. His body was half-rigid, partly stiff with panic, partly sagged with melancholy. He, thankfully, appeared calm. Tony held his breath and cleared his throat. He tasted the odd goo of morning on the roof of his mouth. Stale popcorn butter, he reasoned.

“You okay?” Tony’s question penetrated the gloom. He forced his pupils to dilate in order to make sense of Bruce’s face. All he could see was a shadowy, smudged profile.

“No,” Bruce’s mouth said, but the volume was less than a breeze on a petal.

Tony shifted carefully on the mattress so not to cause much movement. Something groaned.

“That wasn’t…?”

“No.”

Bruce stole a glance at the engineer. His brown irises resembled black buttons, the sockets tainted with blue from the reactor’s light, turning them indigo. There was an echo of longing in his eyes, a sense of a question, a subtle, child-like begging.

 _Better not give me those puppy eyes, Banner,_ Tony thought warningly. 

He settled down again, and neither made eye contact. The rhythm of Bruce’s racing pulse was almost audible, almost able to be felt through the mattress springs. Poor thing was like an alarmed rabbit. Tony chewed his cheek, the last, dusty reels of his own haunted dreams relaying in his thoughts. He shouldn’t mention it. He could tell it wasn’t the time, not now. He’d woken from his earlier and had Bruce console his brief terror with a look; that was all that was needed, just a friendly face away from all the unfamiliar and threatening strangers of slumber. 

“Did you carry me here?” Tony asked.

“Yes.”

“Was the ending of the movie any good?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No.”

That was that then, privacy was to be respected. A vulnerable Banner was a fragile Banner, and possibly and easy to agitate Banner, and made for an oddly humble and appreciative Tony. He nodded to himself and bundled the duvet up to his armpits, splitting it between the pair of them. The abundance of material blocked the circular cobalt luminosity from the centre of his chest. He sighed quietly, fingers gripping the sheet, hair tousled and scruffy. He turned his attention to a standard, mediocre-by-his-standards alarm clock and read the time to be 03:09am. 

A hand then rested lightly on his with a slight grip, tugging the bedding away from his chin. Bruce’s voice was a hoarse whisper

“Leave the light on?”


End file.
